Heralds of Light
by Merakia
Summary: At dawn, the waves rise high. The foaming crests take the shape of white horses. Together, they spring from the waves and gallop across the beach, up the cliffs, and over the White Mountains. They are the heralds of the day. Every day, be it overcast, sunny, or stormy, they bring in the light of day. (Note: Contains some elements from "Little White Horse" by Elizabeth Goudge.)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** **I had the idea to see what happens when elements of _Lord of the Rings_ and _Little White Horse_ are combined. What resulted was, well, you will just have to read and find out!**

* * *

Ten-year old Lothíriel snuck out of the castle a little before sunrise. Although it was a winter morning, winters had the same weather as the rest of the seasons. She bypassed the guards and the town through a secret tunnel she found long ago. She hastened down the path to the beach. At dawn, the waves rose high. The foaming crests took the shape of white horses. Together, they sprung from the waves and galloped across the beach, up the cliffs, and over the White Mountains. They were the heralds of the day. Every day, be it overcast, sunny, or stormy, they brought in the light of day to the world.

One horse stayed back. Blue waters swirled around his silver hooves. His snowy coat, mane, and tail glistened in the brightening light. From his forehead rose a silvery horn. The point of which seemed to capture the light of a star.

Awed, Lothíriel took a step back and curtsied. The horse bowed his proud head in response before he disappeared in an envelope of light. Carrying the memory of the majestic stallion, Lothíriel trudged back to the castle. Throughout the rest of the morning, her lessons on numbers, writing, reading, drawing, and everything a proper lady would eventually know passed ever so slowly.

As soon as her lessons concluded, Lothíriel set off towards in the library in hopes of finding some information on the sea horses. Spotting Elphir, she asked, "Do you believe in sea horses?"

"Of course I do, they are little creatures that come in many colors," he said. He searched the shelves for a particular book and opened up one of them. The picture he then showed her was not at all what she witnessed that day.

"No, not those," Lothíriel said. "Horses that come from the seafoam at the dawn of day. One of them is a most beautiful horse with a horn."

"Ah, you mean unicorns," he answered. "Nurse always had pretty stories to tell."

Disappointed, Lothíriel said defensively, "She never tells me 'pretty stories.'" She fled the room.

Lothíriel ran up to her mother's boudoir. Finding it empty, she sat down before the fireplace. What does her mother do? Mornings she spent with the housekeeper. Afternoons, she liked to relax. Now how does her mother rest? She'd be somewhere quiet, peaceful, and open. The gardens are usually quite silent, which makes them peaceful. Because they only have stone walls and the sky for the ceiling, they would be pretty open too. Lothíriel sprang up from her chair and dashed out the room, almost forgetting to close the door. Down three flights of stairs, she hastened. After stopping to catch her breath, she wove her way through numerous passages to a large parlor. The large windows revealed large, terraced gardens. The casements could almost be doors. Opening one of them, she climbed through the window.

Lothíriel wandered the gardens until she came to an out-of-the-way corner. There, her mother sat with some needlework. Lothíriel queried, "Do you believe in the unicorn from the sea?"

"Ah, so you have finally seen him," said her mother, looking up from her work. She rose and continued, "Sometime after I moved here, I met him, and he showed me a special place."

Her mother led Lothíriel to an even more secluded part of the gardens. Down some steps behind a honeysuckle-covered arbor, Lothíriel discovered a passageway of white stone with a roof of thick vines. The sun filtered through the vines, casting curious shadows in the shape of galloping horses. Eventually, she found her mother standing before a door with a silver horseshoe for a knocker.

"Before I show you anything more, promise me that you will keep this to yourself," she said soberly, stooping to look into Lothíriel's face. "This is something only you and I would be able to understand, and others would laugh."

Lothíriel nodded. Her mother then opened the door. As she entered, Lothíriel gasped. The greenest grass carpeted a round room. In the walls, intricate masonry, set with precious metals and gems, displayed the history of the horses of the sea. Blue and white flowers bloomed from the vine ceiling. A shaft of sunlight pierced the center of the domed ceiling and landed on a marble statue of a unicorn, rearing as waves crashed against the rock he stood on.

"What place is this?" Lothíriel asked in hushed wonder.

Her mother answered, "This is the cenotaph for the Little White Horse. Only those who have seen and believe in him can see what you see."

As the months passed, Lothíriel often slipped away to the peaceful sanctuary. Even on the rainiest days, the beams of light illuminated the place and the hallway leading to it. After all, it was a magical place.

Lothíriel turned eleven, and her love for the Little White Horse grew. Her mother now took control of her education. Most of her mornings began at dawn with her mother. Although she enjoyed spending more time with her mother, who taught her to be more than a typical lady, Lothíriel missed watching sunrises at the beach.

Three months later, Lothíriel had a day off. After spending the morning on the beach, she brought her books to the little sanctuary. After an hour of raptly reading the history of Dol Amroth, a sudden wave of drowsiness overpowered Lothíriel. She laid her head on the soft turf "just for a minute." Suddenly she awoke with bright sunlight in her eyes. Standing up, Lothíriel found herself in a field of rolling grass. A crisp wind played with her black curls. A great horse with a coat as grey as the stormy sky galloped nearby with a golden-haired rider. The rider checked his horse and headed her way.

After dismounting, the rider knelt before her. He said kindly in accented Westron, "What are you doing so far from home, little one?"

"I do not know," she answered, "but I am not allowed to speak with strangers."

"Ah, your parents taught you well," he said with a smile. "Come, I shall to you my name, and you tell me yours. Then we shall be acquaintances instead of strangers. They call me Éomer, and I am a rider of Rohan."

"Is that where I am?" she asked. "Rohan?"

"Indeed," he said. "You are a peculiar one. Are you the child of one of the few merchants that pass through Rohan or an elf-child?"

"Neither," Lothíriel said. Changing the topic before he could question her answer, she asked, "What is your horse's name?"

"Fleetfoot," he answered proudly. "He is not as fast as a Meara, but he is faster than most." He patted the steed affectionately. "Do you ride?"

"I am learning from my brothers," she replied. "My pony is old and fat, but Father promised to get me a proper horse when I am older or better."

Éomer laughed before sobering quite quickly. "Is your family close by? I would like to see you safe with them before I leave you. I must arrive in Edoras before sunset and still have many miles to ride."

"Yes, my brothers are quite close as are my parents."

"Good, where are they? I should like to meet them, even if it be briefly."

"I…it's a little hard to explain," she stammered. Suddenly, an idea sparked. She added with some confidence, "We are camped over there." She pointed in the opposite direction.

Éomer looked. Seeing nothing, he turned back to the girl and found her absent. Panicked, Éomer called out, only to hear the wind in response. Perhaps he had seen a vision. Then he noticed a blue flower lying on the ground where the girl stood. He had never seen one like it before. Carefully pocketing the blossom, Éomer mounted and rode on in silent contemplation.


	2. Chapter 2

( _Quick Author's Note_ : This begins directly after Éomer's meeting with Lothíriel in the previous chapter.)

As Éomer approached Edoras, the setting sun set the thatched roof of Meduseld into a flame of gold. He approached the somber, open gates and hailed the gatekeepers. Dismounting, he handed his reigns to one of the door wardens. The merry brook gurgled as he made his way up the paved streets and steps. Before Meduseld, he arrived at a large terrace with a large fountain at its feet. Éomer ascended the steps to the terrace. There, his uncle awaited him.

"I rode to Erkenbrand and brought your message," he said after the proper greetings. "Here is his response." He handed him a small envelope with a red seal.

"Thank you, sister-son," Théoden answered. "I wished to surprise you, but twould be best if I notified you. In three days, I intend to promote you to Third Marshal of the Mark."

"My lord," Éomer gasped. "I have not yet reached twenty summers, yet you desire me in such a high position. I thank you for your confidence in me, but I am not sure if I am ready."

"Come, my boy, I have watched you grow the past seven years. Even when you first arrived, I sensed a maturity uncommon to boys of eleven years. For your age, I deem you more than a boy still emerging into manhood. Nay, you are as much a man as Théodred is." Théoden clapped Éomer on the back before turning the conversation to more trivial matters.

Eventually, May rolled around. By this time, Éomer was well established in his role as Third Marshal. Generally, the Eastfold was his charge, but his responsibilities depended on what needed to be done. He and his sister returned to their childhood home, Aldburg. Although there were many painful memories, both Éomer and Éowyn remembered happier times.

Not long after, Fleetfoot sired a young colt. Being rather stubborn and fiery in nature, it took many months for the creature to tolerate the farrier, and twould take many more to bridle and saddle him. At least the horse considered Éomer as a friend.

A summer afternoon that found Éomer speaking to the young stallion about saddles. The horse did not mind looking at them, but he refused to let Éomer near him when Éomer held a saddle in his hands.

A child's voice called from behind him, "Greetings, Éomer of Rohan."

Startled, Éomer turned around. The strange child he met a year ago stood before. "Same to you, young one," he replied. "I suppose I must introduce you to Firefoot, Fleetfoot's colt."

The child approached the young horse with an open hand. "Why call him Firefoot?" she questioned. "How old is he?"

"He is a bit older than a yearling," he replied. "As a foal, it took a long time to tolerate the farrier. Now he is just getting used to the idea of a bridle and saddle. He still refuses to try the saddle and bridle. He is strong-willed and has nasty temper tantrums. In honor of both his father and his stubbornness, I call him Firefoot."

The child spoke to the horse in a strange language that reminded him of wind brushing through the grass or a bird's song. Looking up at Éomer, she remarked, "Tis only been a year, but you appear as if five years have passed. Why is that?"

"You are quite discerning for your age. Soon after our last encounter, I was promoted to Third Marshal of the Mark. Many responsibilities comes with that title." He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Suddenly, he realized he was alone with his horse. He was less surprised than before, but the same confusion about this child still beset his thoughts.

* * *

Whenever Lothíriel found herself in Rohan, she always returned without a single moment passing in Dol Amroth. After the first meeting with Éomer, she came across him the following four years. Generally, their meetings were brief, but she enjoyed them.

Soon after her fourteenth birthday, her mother and father called her into their bedroom. They seated her on a chair before the fireplace.

"Lothíriel," her mother began, "your father and I have made an important decision."

Imrahil said, "In two weeks, you will be going to Minas Tirith to finish your education in the Houses of Healing."

Shocked, Lothíriel sputtered, "Send me away? To live with Uncle Denethor?"

"No, not quite, my dear girl," said Imrahil with a chuckle. "You shall live in the Houses of Healing just for a little while."

Lothíriel suspiciously asked, "How long is a little while? Why do I have to finish my education in Minas Tirith?"

"Until you are eighteen," Imrahil answered. "You are a talented child. You have a good deal of common sense, which has developed into discernment and maturity. Whether you realize it or not, you have learned to think like your brothers and act accordingly. Having the education of a healer will, hopefully, teach you compassion, courage, and prepare you for the reality of life."

"But why can I not stay here? Why do you not send for one of Minas Tirith's healers come here to teach me here?" exclaimed Lothíriel.

Her mother said gently, "Lothíriel, we cannot always learn the way we want to. Sometimes the best way to learn is when you are by yourself."

Suddenly, anger surged through her. _What right do they have to send her away without her consultation? What good can come out of her being sent away? What if they are just trying to get rid of her?_ Such questions coursed through Lothíriel's mind. "I will not go to Minas Tirith," she cried, rising from her seat. "Nothing can make me." She dashed out of the room and slammed the door with a loud bang.

Hot tears fell from her eyes as she ran through the castle. She rushed into the sanctuary and wept bitterly. The very thought of Minas Tirith brought dread and the idea of a gilded cage.

"Why are you crying?" a gentle voice asked.

Lothíriel looked up. She sat in a loft, surrounded by mounds of hay. A ray of light entered through a window on the far side of the room. Before her sat Éomer. He held out a clean, linen handkerchief.

Accepting the hankie, Lothíriel dried her tears and answered sullenly, "I am to be sent away from my home to finish my education."

"And you do not wish to go," finished Éomer softly. "That is understandable. There are many times in our short lives that we cannot do what we would prefer."

"Have you had a similar experience?" queried Lothíriel.

"Certainly," he answered. "After my parents died, my sister and I moved to Edoras. It took a good many of lectures from my cousin to at least view the move as something beneficial. In the end, I am glad I moved to Edoras. I learned some things I never would have learned if I stayed in Aldburg."

"Aldburg? Is that your hometown?"

"Precisely, and that is where we are now."

Lothíriel placed her head on knees. After some consideration, she said slowly, "I suppose going away will not be that bad."

Éomer answered encouragingly, "That's the spirit. Never be afraid of what the future holds. Who knows? It may turn out to be better than you would have planned."

Lothíriel smiled. The hayloft and Éomer disappeared. She now gazed at the marble statue of the Little White House. Looking down in her hand, she found that she still held his handkerchief.


	3. Chapter 3

Lothíriel silently left the sanctuary and walked back to the palace. She noiselessly strode to her rooms. A small wooden box guarded her most personal items. Engraved on this box's lid was a depiction of the Little White Horse. She folded and placed the handkerchief within. After closing and locking the lid, Lothíriel made her way two her parents' room where she apologized.

The two weeks she had to spend at home before her departure flew by quickly. She insisted on packing her own things to the servants' dismay. In a large trunk, Lothíriel packed clothing, keepsakes, books, and other personal items. When she finished, she gazed around her room, memorizing the layout and remembering all happy memories.

The day of departure arrived. Servants brought Lothíriel's trunk to the harbor, which was situated below the cliff the castle sat on. Prince Imrahil boarded the ship with Lothíriel because he had some business in Minas Tirith besides ensuring his daughter's safety. Sailing weather was ideal, and they reached Minas Tirith within a week. Imrahil stayed in the city for seven days. During that time, Lothíriel adjusted to her new life.

After her father left, Lothíriel's training began. It started with learning to recognize plants and their functions. This gave her an excuse to practice her drawing. When she passed that phase, putting together plants into salves and other types of medicines. Gradually, she memorized the many recipes, which were thankfully very simple. At the end of six months, she was ready for more clinical duties. Some of the time, she observed surgeries and took notes. At other times, she visited patients with an experienced healer. Six months later, the healers supervised her as she nervously stitched simpler wounds. She did not mind the blood and mess, but she minded the skilled surgeon's scrutiny. Visiting patients was much easier as the atmosphere was more carefree. A year later, she a full-fledged healer for common and slightly less common cases.

At the end of her training, the Warden called Lothíriel to speak with him in the garden. He asked, "After every apprentice graduates, I always one question: What have you learned?"

Lothíriel gazed over the city below them, contemplating the past two and a half years. Finally, she answered thoughtfully, "The reality and brevity of life. The frailty of humanity. The courage compassion takes. The capability every person has to make life a little bit easier for another."

"Then you have learned well," said the old Warden. "Keep on learning as you grow in your acquired skills. That is my final command. My encouragement is this: your influence in this world may be small, but you can still make a difference."

"Thank you, Warden," responded Lothíriel. "I shall remember what I have learned and what you said."

The next day, a messenger from the Citadel arrived at the Houses of Healing with an order from Denethor to bring Lothíriel to him. Lothíriel changed from her simple healer's garb into a fancier gown. The messenger led her through the gate into the Citadel, pass the main courtyard, and beyond many passageways. Finally, they arrived in a large parlor. Denethor rose from his seat and greeted Lothíriel. Then he dismissed the messenger.

"You have not visited the Citadel very often," he remarked. "Have the healer's place you on a rigorous schedule?" He offered Lothíriel a seat next to a small table.

"Not exactly," she replied carefully. "However, I am finished with my training."

Denethor peered into her face as if he was endeavoring to read her thoughts. Then he drew back, seemingly disappointed. He queried, "Do you intend to return to Dol Amroth soon?"

"I intend to stay as a healer until the end of the year before returning home," she answered. So far, nothing about Denethor was very intimidating, except his glances towards her.

Denethor said, "I have a better proposition for you. I am in need of a…"assistant." I assume your parents have given you a higher education than most ladies receive. At any rate, you are far more mature and responsible. Twould not be a demanding request. You'd still have time to do whatever you wish."

Hoping she could stall her answer, Lothíriel said, "I would need my parents' permission."

"I wrote to them already, so there is no need for that," he said. "They give their permission as long as you give yours."

Lothíriel bit her lip. Her uncle was too confident of predicting her answer. Part of her desired to reject and continue her own way. The other part reminded her to utilize what she learned in the Houses of Healing. Before the inner turmoil would cause her accidently cause her to say the wrong thing, she squeaked, "May I think over it?"

"Of course," he said. "By next week, I want an answer." He then called for a servant to escort Lothíriel back to the Houses of Healing.

During the following days, Lothíriel agonized over the two choices. She liked her uncle as a person, but his gaze and voice unnerved her, resulting in a sort of dread of him. When she returned to the Citadel, she was slightly paler than the week before.

"Well?" said he taciturnly. "Have you made up your mind?"

"I have, sir," she said solemnly, resolving not let Denethor see her fear. "First of all, I wish to know your requirements before I give my final word."

"Certainly," said he. "Organize social events, which are mainly for Yule and campaign successes, keep record of the economy, and ensure the maintenance of the city."

"Could you please clarify 'the maintenance of the city'?"

"Keeping peace and order in the city," he answered shortly.

"Does that include settling major arguments?"

"Yes."

"Also, I must have the liberty to execute these duties my own way. I would, however, bring reports if you wish it. Also, I must be allowed one day a week to spend how I wish."

"So be it. I am also willing to provide you a stipend for your services."

"Then here is my final answer. I accept your offer, but you must allow me a few days to adjust to the roles you just delegated to me."

Denethor smiled and called for some wine, of which only he drank while Lothíriel opted with just water. Afterwards, he ordered some rooms to be prepared for Lothíriel in the next few days. Lothíriel returned to the Houses of Healing and broke the news to the Warden, who gave her his blessing as she "might be in desperate need of it." After packing her belongings, again, and giving her respect to all her teachers, Lothíriel moved from the sixth circle to the seventh.

Transitioning into an administrator of Minas Tirith was somewhat easy. Older officials shamed her as best they could due to her gender and age. Lothíriel quickly learned that masking emotions would give her some standing with prejudiced officials. Entering a political sphere, no matter how intentional or not, included a risk. Her task was actually quite straightforward. Four days of the week was spent with the people, which gave her the opportunity to employ her training as a healer. The other two days were spent tracking and recording the entire economy Gondor. With this task, she actually assisted the treasurer, who was a kind, old man. She had not yet had to plan any social events, but the thought of it excited her.

Although her job was sometimes demanding, Lothíriel loved it. The agony in making the decision was worth spending more time with Minas Tirith's citizens. She also enjoyed spending time with the old treasurer, who inadvertently taught her many things about governing a nation. Yes, one should never be afraid of the future when there is life and light.


	4. Chapter 4

Winter settled in Rohan. Blanketed in snow, Edoras lay silent at night, but still relatively active during the day. With Yule fast approaching, Éomer returned to Edoras from his patrols. He greeted his sister warmly before quietly asking of their uncle's health.

"He hardly stirs from Meduseld," she said solemnly. "I fear Gríma Wormtongue's influence is ever strengthening day by day."

Éomer muttered, "I curse the day he became uncle's chief counsellor. The only council he gives are poison."

After greeting his uncle, he addressed Wormtongue with forced civility. Then he crossed the snowy terrace and went down to the guesthouse where he lodged when in Edoras. As he entered, a familiar voice hailed him from the street.

"Théodred!" he responded with a smile. "It is good to see you! How long have you been in Edoras?"

"And I you," Théodred answered. "I arrived yesterday, but I did not hear about your coming."

The two went into the guesthouse and settled round the dining table with ale in hand. After reporting to each other of the last few weeks, talk drifted to more personal matters. Somehow their conversation turned to girls.

"I would think that you would have found someone to settle with long ago," Éomer remarked wryly after hearing about Théodred's latest interest.

"Some do not prove to be as ideal as I wanted," replied Théodred defensively. "Besides, what about you?"

"I met a girl ten years ago," Éomer answered. "I've seen her twice since then."

"And what was she like?" Théodred prodded. "What is her name?"

"Hair as black as night, sun-kissed complexion, and eyes as grey as stormy clouds. Her name is unknown to me."

"Getting poetic are you?" teased Théodred with a smile. "Are you smitten?"

"No, not quite," smiled Éomer. "More like fascinated. She is younger than Éowyn, I think, but she is more discerning than any other girls her age. She is not from these parts, so I doubt I shall see her again."

Théodred remarked, "Perhaps you shall find a girl like her, then. She sounds more of a dream than reality. I best see Father before I head off."

With that, Théodred left for Meduseld while Éomer headed for the stables to keep Firefoot some company.

* * *

Faramir and Boromir returned from their outposts a week before Yule Lothíriel watched their arrival from the brow of the seventh gate. Despite the cold weather and light snowfall, the citizens gathered as close as they could to the two great men. Both were tall and dark-haired, but Boromir was broader than his brother. He waved gaily at the people while Faramir just smiled. Though both of their natures contrasted, their bond was close. While they dismounted at the stables in the sixth circle, Lothíriel hastened to the steps of the entrance to the great hall where Denethor stood.

Faramir bowed and paid his respects to his father as warmly as possible. Meanwhile, Boromir greeted Lothíriel with a bear hug, exclaiming something along the lines of not expecting to see her. Then he greeted his father. The four of them left the snowy courtyard and entered the warm halls.

Lothíriel dined with her cousins and uncle before excusing herself soon after. She went to her lodgings. A servant already lit a blazing fire in her room. After writing to her family and packaging the gifts she made them, Lothíriel settled down to read. However thoughts of her cousins and uncle distracted her. She had witnessed both her cousins' greetings and conversations with their father. For some reason, Boromir seemed to have more favor because his speech was respectful, but casual. Faramir's seemed more formal and tense.

Citywide festivities for Yule and New Year's passed without any major problems. Spring passed uneventfully. During June, Faramir and Boromir arrived in Minas Tirith for some important council that left Lothíriel mystified. Early July, Boromir set off for a long journey. Whispered gossips said he was heading for elven lands. Summer faded as did autumn.

Winter settled in, colder than the last. Older citizens declared it to be coldest winter yet. The sun shone without much warmth. Sometimes it seemed to shine with less brightness. Lothíriel found the atmosphere of the city be quieter and more depressing than the previous winter.

In the middle of January, Lothíriel requested a small council with Denethor and a select few officials. It was set for two days after her request.

Denethor opened the meeting, saying, "Gentlemen, we are called here today to consider an important concern brought by Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Lady Lothíriel, please present your concerns."

"Thank you, Lord Denethor, for your understanding," Lothíriel said, inclining her head towards her uncle. Addressing the rest of the council, she said, "My lords, this winter has been especially difficult for the city. I have spoken to older inhabitants, and all of them agree that this winter has been the coldest yet. Many have even perished."

"What are you trying to say, girl?" interrupted a grumpy official.

Lothíriel replied sternly, "I have not finished speaking, sir. Please keep all comments to yourselves until I have concluded. I am convinced that this winter foreshadows a more deadly event. I have been doing some research in the archives. We all know that a darkness grows in the east. The past year, and especially this winter, it has grown and become more active."

"Are you suggesting that Minas Tirith is becoming unsafe for the people?" questioned the old treasurer.

"Exactly," said Lothíriel. "I suggest an evacuation. Considering the size of this city, it should be carried out in stages. If one circle could leave in one week, then the city will be empty in six to seven weeks."

Lord Denethor spoke up, "Lady Lothíriel is right, and her suggestions are sound. Whether you realize it or not, the darkness she speaks of has indeed risen. Far more quickly than I have expected. Lady Lothíriel, I give you charge of overseeing this operation. Only women, children and the elderly. All nonfighting men are allowed to accompany their families. Council dismissed."

That very day, Lothíriel set off for the first circle with criers. She gave that circle an extra day because the news would be quite a shock. Then she went up to the rest of the circles, alerting of when they must leave. She organized each wain to make the evacuations as efficient as possible. Wagons drawn by horses exited the city first. Next came the slow, lumbering oxen. Men who drew their own carts came last. With each group, soldiers escorted them across the vast Pelennor Field.

In February, Imrahil and his sons arrived from Dol Amroth after the second circle left. With them came a host from Dol Amroth. They also brought word that the more forces were on their way and a letter for Lothíriel from her mother.

Two nights after his arrival, Imrahil called Lothíriel to his study. He began, "Lothiriel, Denethor informed me about all your hard work and plan for vacating the civilian population. When the last circle is evacuated, you must go with it."

"Father, I cannot go," Lothíriel said firmly.

Imrahil inhaled sharply. "Cannot or will not? What are your reasons?"

"The Houses of Healing will need me, and there are many other tasks that I can help with," Lothíriel explained. "Please, Father, do not send me away."

"Daughter, there is a high chance Minas Tirith will be attacked in the near future, and a battle is no place for a woman."

"The Houses of Healing is a battlefield, Father. Very often, we, healers, must battle death itself. Is that not what ultimately occurs on a battleground?"

"Lothíriel, if Minas Tirith should fall, the world will need healers and people like you to continue the fight against the Dark Lord and his devices."

"Gondor is not the only free nation. Is not Rohan in the north free? What about the elven kingdoms? There are many creatures we know not of fighting to keep their freedom."

Exasperated, Imrahil raised his voice, "This situation is not sunshine and roses! Do you realize how grim it is? Tis only a matter of time before Pelagir falls to the Corsairs. Minas Tirith is caught between dark forces south and east."

"What about the north and west? I am sure Uncle Denethor has knowledge of our ally."

"You are as stubborn as your mother. I thought it would be easy to send her to safety when the Corsairs attacked Dol Amroth, but no, she refused. Now you also defy my orders! What am I going to do with the two of you?" Imrahil groaned.

"She wrote of that," Lothíriel remarked. "Maybe you should trust our judgement. Am I old and mature enough to analyze the risks before deciding? I have thought long and hard about leaving or not, and I have made my decision. I am staying."

Imrahil muttered to himself, "Folly can disguise itself as wisdom." He then addressed his daughter, "Have it your way, and may the Valar protect us all."


	5. Chapter 5

The evacuations continued. Towards the end of February, the majority of the city lay empty. Hardly anyone was left to hear the whispers of the end of winter. Lothíriel hardly saw her father, brothers, and uncle. The Citadel itself seemed filled with ghosts flitting through the halls. To escape, Lothíriel found refuge in helping the Houses of Healing's preparations or lending a hand to some stressed family.

On the last day of February, Lothíriel mounted the stairs to one of the high towers to escape the cloud of fear that settled in Minas Tirith. Any who refused to evacuate with their respective circles now received the mandatory order and willingly complied. In two more mass departures, the city would be completely empty and eerier than ever. As Lothíriel viewed the city from her vantage point, she heard the echo of a solitary horn. It rang through mountain and vale, deep and distressed. She once heard that horn when Boromir visited Dol Amroth long ago. Then all was silent again.

Fear gripped her heart. Frozen in her place, foreboding thoughts ran through her mind. Lothíriel hurried down the stairs. She first came across Amrothos, who wandered the Citadel.

"Amrothos, do you think that was Boromir's horn?" she queried, heart aflutter for the answer.

Amrothos took his sister's hand into his own and said, "Yes, but hope for the best, sister."

"Uncle treasures him more than anything else," she said softly. "If he should fall, I suspect he would eventually fall as well."

"All this quiet is unsettling," said Amrothos, changing the subject. "We know that these times are not peaceful, yet that is how it is."

"The quiet before the storm," Lothíriel observed. "I am sure every man here is feeling what you feel."

They parted ways when they found themselves in the large courtyard. The following days, Lothíriel spent her time in the Houses of Healing to occupy her listless mind. It worked during the day, but the nights troubled her with strange dreams.

 _She stood alone, surrounded by misty darkness. Voices spoke around her. She could not recognize the language, but it grated her ear. Suddenly the mist now cleared, only to cover dark objects. Here and there, small fires smoked in the twilight. A stench filled the air, chocking her. Suddenly, a clear horn sounded. Soon horses rushed round her, the riders shouting. Bright swords flashed. Now, a bright light washed over her. When it faded, she soared through the sky as a great eagle. Below her, a host of riders cantered over hills. She flew a bit closer. One rider stood out from the rest, for a white horsetail flowed from his helm._

Lothíriel awoke, heart racing. Tis was only a dream, yet it was too real. The cold moonlight poured through her window. She lit a candle and opened her keepsake box. When she touched the handkerchief, the image of a rider with a white horsetail on his helmet came to mind. Maybe Éomer was whom she saw in her dream. She blushed when she recalled her past encounters.

Eight days into March, a messenger rode into the almost empty city at nightfall. In his hands, he carried a small object, wrapped in a cloth. After delivering the package to Denethor and reporting news from Faramir, he departed.

Two hours before midnight, Lothíriel found Denethor sitting in his seat in the throne room. The pale moon illuminated an ox horn, cleft in two, on his lap. When he looked up, it seemed that many years had passed.

"Uncle…" she began, but could not finish.

Denethor answered her unasked question. "Yes," he said, "my firstborn is fallen. Thirteen days ago. There was none like him, and there never shall a man such as him. A bulwark for Gondor, and now all shall fall."

Lothíriel approached. She said softly, "But is not every man fighting the darkness a bulwark of light? Your son…"

"My son is dead," Denethor interrupted coldly.

"I speak of Faramir. He toils with the same strength as Boromir did."

"Silent!" Denethor bellowed, eyes ablaze. "Faramir is no son of mine," he hissed.

"How can he not be your son when you partook in his conception?" Lothíriel cried. "I know you grieve for Boromir. I see it. That does not mean all hope is lost."

Clenching his teeth, Denethor snarled menacingly, "Get out of here." When she refused to budge, he roared, "Get out!"

Lothíriel drew herself to her full height and declared defiantly, "I shall leave of my own accord, and not from your command. Hear, at least, my parting words: let not your grief overtake your senses." She turned and walked steadily out of the hall.

The next morning at dawn, Lothíriel climbed up to the top of the Citadel's gate. The silent guards ignored her, paying attention to a rider, cloaked in grey, now fast approaching the seventh circle. Before him sat a figure the size of a boy. Then she gazed at the steed they rode on. His coat was as white as snow, and he galloped tirelessly towards the Citadel. Lothíriel almost mistook him for the Little White Horse, for he seemed so alike in appearance and build.

After the rider and his small companion entered the Citadel, Lothíriel headed towards the palace. Desiring to temporarily escape all present troubles, she headed towards the library to lose herself in the past. As she walked, she noticed the shadows of running horses on the marble walls. Glancing upward, Lothíriel perceived a leafy ceiling. Eventually, she came to the door she knew very well. Instead of finding that little sanctuary, Lothíriel found herself standing on a white beach. A bay of the bluest water opened before with a large flat rock in the middle. Gulls soared overhead, calling to one another. After walking a few steps, Lothíriel glanced behind her. A large cliff rose behind her, and there was no door.

Waves swirled round a rock in this magical cove, and the Little White Horse appeared. An ethereal radiance surrounded him. With a silent command, the water between him and Lothíriel parted, forming a dry path. Drawn like a magnet, Lothíriel stepped towards him.

"Surely your name is not 'Little White Horse,'" she breathed as she neared him. "It is a name created by men who do not know who you are."

The unicorn whinnied in agreement. He then approached Lothíriel, who now stood quite still. He bowed his head until his horn touched the girl's head. He then showed her what was closest to his name.

"Calacondo," she whispered. "You are not the light, yet you shine with the light. A representative like the Horses of the Sea, but prince over them."

He nickered and showed a different scenario. Understanding the connotation, Lothíriel mounted. In the blink of an eye, he transported her to another place.

 **Author's Note** : Like? Dislike? Suggestions? Review so that I can know! The Little White Horse will be now be referred as Calacondo, which means bright prince. If you have an elvish name that is along the same lines as Calacondo, please tell me so that I may consider it!

To all who have read the first edition, please review and tell me what you think of this second edition!

Here is a timeline to keep track of the last five chapters!

 _ **Timeline:**_ (All entries are about Lothíriel and her life unless otherwise noted.)

2999 – Birth

3009 – Witnesses the Horses of the Sea for the first time, meets the Little White Horse, and is introduced to the magical sanctuary.

3010 – Meets Éomer for the first time.

3011 – Second encounter with Éomer.

3015 – Third encounter with Éomer. Becomes an apprentice in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.

3017 – (April) Lothíriel concludes her training as a healer and becomes Denethor's "assistant."

3018 – (July) Boromir leaves for Imladris.

3019 – (Early January) the beginning of the evacuation of the civilians in Minas Tirith.

(Mid-February) Imrahil and his sons arrive in Minas Tirith with a host from Dol Amroth.

(February 29) Boromir killed.

(March 8) Denethor receives the hereditary horn, now cleft in two.

(March 9) Mithrandir and Pippin arrive in Minas Tirith. Lothíriel meets Shadowfax and encounters the Little White Horse/Calacondo.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of rushing waters filled Lothíriel's ears. A flash of light momentarily blinded her. When she opened her eyes again, she stood on a barren cliff with Calacondo just as the moon set. Far below them stood a solitary figure, cloaked in grey.

Calacondo led Lothíriel down the cliff towards the person. When they reached the bottom, he nudged her forward. Looking behind her at Calacondo for reassurance, Lothíriel found herself alone with this stranger.

The stranger approached and removed the hood. Her face was as beautiful as the sun after a spring shower. Her glossy locks were drawn away from her face, revealing pointed ears.

Awed, Lothíriel gazed down at the sand and curtsied. Cool fingers raised her head.

The elf asked her native tongue, "What is your name, young one?"

Responding in the same language, she responded, "Lothíriel, fair lady."

"Call me Mithrellas," smiled the elf, "for I am no lady. Only a lowly handmaiden of the Lady Nimrodel. You speak in my tongue, and your eyes show great understanding for your age. And you are a young human. Only those one with elvish blood display wisdom that can only gained by experience at such a young age. How came that?"

On hearing the elf's name, awe fell upon Lothíriel. Before her stood her ancestress! On hearing Mithrellas' question, Lothíriel carefully answered, "One of my ancestors was an elf."

The elf regarded Lothíriel carefully. Finally, she said, "You speak truth, yet you hold something back. I ask of you for the full truth, for it is rare for humans and elves to mingle bloodlines."

Looking boldly into Mithrellas' face, she responded, "It is not my place for me to inform you. However, I can promise that you shall find out in time."

"Strange words, child," Mithrellas murmured. She turned away when the sea churned uneasily. As the Horses of the Sea sprung away, Mithrellas disappeared in the growing light as the outline of Calacondo appeared.

Blinking in surprise, Lothíriel glanced around her. Pasturelands, bathed in the afternoon sun, surrounded her. Not so very far away, smoke rose from the chimney tops of a small village. Round about her, mountains formed a semi-circle about her. An inviting, pine forest finished up the circle. A tall hill rose up beside her. On the top sat a stone structure. A clear stream gurgled as it flowed down the hillside. Wondering where the brook began, Lothíriel began to climb up the steep hill. Gradually, she came to a spring, nestled beside the strange stone establishment. After a refreshing drink after her endeavor, Lothíriel heard a merry voice singing from the inside the building. Rounding a corner, Lothíriel found a curiously wrought, wooden door. It stood open. Inside, a young lady stood watering pink flowers from a pitcher-like object. The sun poured through a winder, setting her hair aflame.

Looking up, the lady met the inquisitive eyes that gazed at her. She straightened, set her watering pot down, and said warmly, "Good afternoon. I have not seen you in these parts before. What is your name?" Beside her, a large beast with a mass of golden fur wreathing its catlike face rose.

"Lothíriel, and what might be yours?" said Lothíriel. "And what is the name of the creature beside you?"

"Maria," she replied merrily. "Maria Merryweather. I am the mistress of the lands you see her, but not of this hill or yonder forest. This here is my dear friend, Wrolf. He is a lion. How did you find this valley?"

"I am not sure, but it seems Calacondo brought me here."

"Calacondo? Who is he?"

"A white horse with silver hooves and a horn."

Maria Merryweather gasped. Eyes shining, she interrupted, "The Little White Horse! You have seen him? By your appearance, who knows where you come from, but what does that matter? I did not know he reveals himself to people not of my time."

Lothíriel smiled and said, "Neither did I, but perhaps he shall bring us together again." She liked the bubbling character of this Maria Merryweather.

Next thing she knew, Lothíriel found herself in a forest at a crossroads. One was lightly worn. The other was a broad path with deep ruts. This lightly-trod road was heavily shaded by the trees in such a way that little light shone through the canopy. The more Lothíriel gazed at the road less traveled, the more she sensed a white glimmer. Her brain opted for the worn road, but a feeling of discomfort settled in her when she took a step towards that path. Disregarding the whispers of the worn out path, Lothíriel dashed in the opposite direction. Even though leery voices seemed to shout at her, Lothíriel did not regret her decision. Rather, she felt a light growing around her and leading her. She came to an open clearing. There, Calacondo waited for her.

"Sometimes, it is best for me to remain silent," began the unicorn in a deep, soothing voice, "but now is the time for me to speak. What caused you to choose the shady path, and not the other?"

Lothíriel answered, "I saw your light from afar, Calacondo. I am safer with you than anything else. But why did you bring me to Mithrellas, my ancestress, and to that copper-haired maiden?"

"To show you that you are neither the first, nor the last, to know me," said Calacondo. "As long as there is light and life, someone shall believe in me. You are not alone in your trust."

"Then surely the Dark Lord shall not prevail," mused Lothíriel. "In my time, though, he might, but not in the end."

The unicorn nickered, which was about as close to a chuckle a unicorn can get. He then said, "Whatever the result of your current times may be, you shall find out. But remember this, wherever you are, I am close by."

Suddenly Lothíriel found herself standing in the empty hallway. Calacondo's parting words rang inside her, filling her with a warmth and security. Lothíriel made her way to the Houses of Healing. The healers and all who encountered marveled at her peaceful countenance and gentle smile. They wondered how she could be so calm when a wrathful storm approached.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning was a cloudy morning. As Lothíriel watered the herb garden in the Houses of Healing, she heard odious shrieks. Dropping the metal pitcher, she rushed to the wall. In the distance, a group of four or so horsemen galloped towards the city. Fell creatures as black as pitch hovered above them. Now and then, they swooped as they attacked the horsemen. A trumpet called, ending on a high note. It was Faramir's call. With a cry, Lothíriel hid her eyes, unable to bear the sight of those dark creatures attacking her dear cousin. Peeking, Lothíriel spotted only one man still riding. Only one man could stay horsed under such conditions, and that would be Faramir. One of the flying monstrosities swooped. Suddenly, a light as bright as a star shone. As if blinded by that light, the creature veered from its prey. Lothíriel breathed a sigh of relief. Mithrandir arrived just in time.

Although Lothíriel longed to go immediately to the Citadel to help her cousin by providing some moral support, the healers kept her busy until sundown. Finally, they allowed her to depart for the seventh circle. Lothíriel arrived at the Great Hall just as Faramir exited. He swayed and leaned against the wall for support. His face showed signs of a mental weariness as well as physical fatigue.

"Lean on me," Lothíriel said, coming to his side and offering her shoulder.

A light flickered in Faramir's weary face as he questioned, "Cousin, how come you here in these perilous times?"

"Speak not of it," said she. "You have heavier concerns greater than my safety."

In silence, they strode to Faramir's room. After parting at his door, Lothíriel whispered a blessing and a prayer. Knowing Denethor's opinion of Faramir, she guessed Faramir would have burdens fit for two men, not one.

At dawn the next sunless day, Lothíriel spotted men departing with Faramir as their leader. By midmorning, Lothíriel found her father, returning from council with Denethor.

In silence she paced beside him before speaking. "Father, I beg of you, to tell me what has transpire and what should or could."

"I have already allowed you to stay," Imrahil lamented, "and now I rue it. I would rather you remain unburdened by the worries and plans of war."

"So, situations must be dire," Lothíriel remarked softly, after carefully taking note of her father's tone and words. "The enemy must be strong and our defenses few."

"Why did I teach you to think and listen like a politician?" Imrahil sighed. "To figure out underlying words and intentions?"

"Because you saw the potential you noted in my brothers," Lothíriel answered.

Imrahil heaved a sigh and said, "Let us speak in the privacy of our house." When they reached his study, he began, "The strength of our enemy is estimated to be far greater than our own. Cair Andros is bound to be overrun. Osgiliath, though now reinforced, will only be able to stand for a short time. As for Minas Tirith, all of Gondor's men that are not already employed elsewhere are her. Two or three days ago, Denethor ordered the lighting of the Beacons. Prior to that, he sent the Red Arrow to Rohan. The coming of Rohan will greatly aid us, if not save us. Even while we wait, we must stand as firm as we can. With Mithrandir, I think we can stand a bit longer and stronger. For now, I must pass some orders to your brothers before returning to Denethor."

After Imrahil departed, Lothíriel remained. Thoughtful, but not overly shocked. There was nothing she could say that was already said. What then was her purpose here? To her father, she was a burden. It was too late for her to at least relieve her father's burden. The least she could do was remain in the sixth and seventh circles, employing her abilities as best she could. As long as there were men to defend the lower circles, she would be safe in the higher regions.

That night, news of the coming of the Black Captain arrived. By the next day, Osgiliath had fallen again into the hands of the enemy. Faramir and his men had now retreated to the wall of Pelennor. Mithrandir then galloped on Shadowfax to lend aid for there was much he could do there. While the new day was still dark, flashes of red fire notified the city of the falling of even those walls. Eventually, Mithrandir arrived with wains filled with the wounded. That afternoon, a sortie, which was comprised Prince Imrahil and his riders, was organized for when the rearguard would have need of them the most.

The following day brought even eviler woes. Fire in the first circle broke out after the enemy hurled strange devices from their catapults. Soon, word of the heads of the slain were also catapulted into the city by their heartless enemies. On the wings of fell beasts, the shrieks of those terrible riders sounded above the city. The sound of them filled the brave with thoughts of death and filled them with fear. The enemy knew better than to use hunger against them. Fear and despair was so much more powerful.

As soon as the day shift was over, Lothíriel sought refuge from the cries of dying men and war in her family's house. She finally let loose the tears that had been slowly building up. Calacondo's promise had comforted and strengthened her until now. Now, that seemed to be no match against the shrilly cries of those nightmarish riders.

A soft light filled the room. A gentle voice whispered, "All is not lost yet."

"We are doomed, Calacondo," Lothíriel cried out, angrily. "You comfort me with empty words. Leave me be."

"You forget of Rohan," said the voice. "Even now, they come."

"They shall come to a city overrun by dark creatures and nameless beings," Lothíriel spat spitefully. "Even if I had already departed, death would come to me. Better for me to die at work in Minas Tirith than as a hunted hare in Lamedon."

An image of Calacondo smiling, not smugly, but maybe with pity and sorrow filled her mind. He said, "And now comes the time for the test of faith, young one. In the depths of despair, you deny. The question is: will you forever deny?"

Lothíriel dashed out of the house. She climbed up the walls of the seventh circle. Reaching the top, a dismal scene greeted her. Few manned the gates, for there was much to do in the lower circles. Men now fled behind the gates of the second circle. Even as she stood there, Lothíriel felt the strength and daring of the Black Captain grow as the courage of Minas Tirith diminished. Gazing towards the northwest, a wild hope seized Lothíriel. Perhaps Calacondo is right. Rohan may come. The spark of hope lit the fire of the joy for life in her eyes. Suddenly energized, Lothíriel returned to the Houses of Healing.

Throughout the night, taunting voices resounded through the city. The hungry flames raged unchecked, and the cries of dying men reached the Houses of Healing. Despite it all, a burning light of maybe useless hope burned within Lothíriel. All through a desperate night, she fought death for the lives of men vigorously. The morrow's dawning will forever prove the reality of the Little White Horse in Lothíriel's heart.

 **Author's Note:** A lot is going on here! Much of this chapter was derived from The Siege of Gondor in _The Return of the King._ Therefore, read that for the best depiction of this chapter's current events. I included the timeline again with the latest events in italics. It might be a bit helpful in figuring out The Siege of Gondor as well.

 _ **Timeline:**_ (All entries are about Lothíriel and her life unless otherwise noted.)

2999 – Birth

3009 – Witnesses the Horses of the Sea for the first time, meets the Little White Horse, and is introduced to the magical sanctuary.

3010 – Meets Éomer for the first time.

3011 – Second encounter with Éomer.

3015 – Third encounter with Éomer. Becomes an apprentice in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.

3017 – (April) Lothíriel concludes her training as a healer and becomes Denethor's "assistant."

3018 – (July) Boromir leaves for Imladris.

3019 – (Early January) the beginning of the evacuation of the civilians in Minas Tirith.

(Mid-February) Imrahil and his sons arrive in Minas Tirith with a host from Dol Amroth.

(February 29) Boromir is killed.

(March 8) Denethor receives the hereditary horn, now cleft in two.

(March 9) Mithrandir and Pippin arrive in Minas Tirith. Lothíriel encounters the Little White Horse/Calacondo.

 _(March 10) Faramir arrives under perilous circumstances. A thick shadow from the East prevents the light of the sun to shine over Minas Tirith, and it spreads westward._

 _(March 11) Faramir departs with some men of Gondor._

 _(March 12) Osgiliath and Cair Andros has fallen._

 _(March 13) Midmorning, Mithrandir comes, bringing the wounded. Evening, the walls of Pelennor, which are also known as the Rammas, falls. Twilight, a sortie, comprised of Dol Amroth and Mithrandir, departs from Minas Tirith to rescue the remaining of Faramir and his men. They bring back a wounded Faramir._

 _(March 14) The siege of Minas Tirith. The Pelennor Fields are destroyed. "Bombs" and "grenades" are fired within the first circle along with the heads of all men of Gondor who have perished._


	8. Chapter 8

Excepting a few hours of fitful rest in the darkest hours of night, Lothíriel spent most of the night in the Houses of Healing. She worked feverishly, powered by a hope that might as well prove vain. Washing, stitching, and binding wounds by candlelight. Sometimes she performed more delicate surgeries. Amputations and the worst surgeries she left for the more experienced healers. Around the fifth or sixth hour of the new day, all paused momentarily. A great thud from a gigantic battering ram echoed throughout the condemned city. Then the terrible voice of a dark power rose. Three times the ram sounded, and three times the voice of the Black Captain called. Lightening seemed to burst from the gate to the first circle and all the rest of the city. All living quaked for fear of the very near future. The brave men of the city fled the scene as the hulking figure of the dark Witchking of Angmar and his mount filled the empty gateway. All eyes turned towards the solitary figure of Mithrandir, seated on Shadowfax. A small flame of white against the black power of the nameless being.

As she watched Mithrandir, Lothíriel lifted her eyes to the east. She laughed, for she felt the rush of those heralds of the day filling the doomed valley with the light of the rising sun. Somewhere far below, a cock crowed the arrival of the dawn. From a ridge on Mindolluin, Calacondo appeared, wrapped in the light of stars. Then she heard numerous horns, blaring with life and regained hope.

As the sun began its long circuit, the golden armor of the Rohirrim gleamed, blinding the enemies. It seemed that the Horses of the Sea materialized into tangible horses, bearing the salvation of Minas Tirith along with the day. Calacondo himself seemed active in the battle. A flash of silver darted throughout the battlefield, strengthening the horses and causing the enemy to quell.

A hand touched Lothíriel's shoulder, reminding her of her duties. The Warden bid her to take charge of a patient recently come from an even greater battlefield than the siege of Minas Tirith. Confused by the Warden's mystic riddle, Lothíriel soon found the meaning when she entered the room where the patient lay.

There on the bed, Faramir lay, dreaming in a terrible fever. His wound was already washed. There was nothing she could do but try to bring down the fever.

"If only they brought you here in the first place," she sighed sorrowfully when she stroked his hot forehead.

The other healers had stirred the fire to its greatest strength, closed the windows, and drawn the curtains. Lothíriel doused the fire, withdrew the curtains, and opened the windows. Bringing down a fever meant exposure to lower temperatures, not equal or hotter temperatures. She removed the coverlets, leaving only a thin sheet. She bathed his brows and face with cool water, changing it often. The fever did not decrease, but at least it did not increase.

Another healer entered to take watch over Lord Faramir. He gasped in shock. Lothíriel's way of treating fevers was not quite the normal procedure.

"Do not relight the fire, close the windows, or block the sunlight," she ordered sternly. Her eyes burned dangerously. "Continue to bathe his forehead with cool water. One does not battle fire with fire. We must try to keep the fever at bay."

"Of course," stammered the healer. "I will do as your ladyship deems best."

Lothíriel relaxed and gave the healer a weary smile. "I am no lady here," she said. "There is no room for rank when there is a common enemy to fight."

Lothíriel descended from her post as Faramir's defender against death and handed it over the next healer. She did not have the will or power to call Faramir from his feverish wanderings. No one in the Houses of Healing did.

As the day waxed, Lothíriel paid no heed to news from the battle on Pelennor. Rather, she focused the remainder of her energy and strength to the battle against death. Time seemed to lose its power over her. Morning ran together with afternoon. She heard that a lady of Rohan entered, but she knew not when.

As the sun began to its setting journey, the battle concluded. Lothíriel then hurried to the Warden.

"Warden," she said. "There are living men, lying in the fields, but greatly wounded. Some may not be able to reach the Houses of Healing in time when they have a chance for life. I beg of you to allow me to go down and bring life to them. Or at least a light in the dark hour of death."

"It is too dangerous, child," objected the good Warden. "On the battlefield, other creatures other than men lie on the battlefield. One may still be alive and could easily take your life as you try to give it."

"I hear that all of the enemy who could escape have left," persisted Lothíriel. "The rest are trampled by the Rohirrim or any rider and slain by sword, spear, or arrow."

"It would be a gruesome sight that you need not see," argued the Warden. "Nay, better stay here."

"No more gruesome than the amputations and grievous wounds I have seen these last few hours."

"Your intentions are noble, but I cannot allow you to depart from the Houses of Healing," said the Warden firmly. "Your father would not permit that, and I am responsible for your safety. Also, there is little chance that any are still live after the day's battle. After all, you say that the Rohirrim and other riders thoroughly trampled the field."

Realizing the Warden truly meant what he said, Lothíriel bowed her head and submitted to the will of her mentor. After all, there is no use in bantering with a stone wall. Night fell, and another perian was brought to the Houses of Healing. With the night came a lordly man, who was called Aragorn, and two elves. The Black Breath, which the healers could not control, overpowered many and only those with greater power, training, or will could effectively battle the Black Breath. Whispers that the elves were sons of Elrond reached Lothíriel's ears. Like the rest of the healers, she gazed in wonder and curiosity as the elves began to battle the Black Breath. Then her attention turned to the man. Some of the older folk said he was the long expected king of Gondor. Whether or not he was, Lothíriel felt the man's strength of will. He had the strength to save Faramir, and he would because he was led towards Faramir's room.

Lothíriel glanced towards the fair-haired companion of the Lord Aragorn. She inhaled sharply. She recognized his face and bearing. The man took no notice of his surroundings. Worry and cares lined his brow. He headed towards the lady of Rohan's room. Lothíriel knew this man to be none other than Éomer of Rohan.


	9. Chapter 9

Éomer kissed his sister goodnight before setting off for the stables. As he walked, he spotted the figure of a woman heading towards the Citadel. He caught a glimpse of her face. He knew that face! It was the face of the girl he met five years ago. Was she a vision who grew in height and matured in appearance as he aged? Perhaps, but it seemed to be more than a coincidence he should see her in Minas Tirith right after a battle.

After he visited Firefoot, Éomer met Prince Imrahil. Éomer said, "Sir, I want to express my gratitude for saving my sister's life."

"I did not save her life, but merely saw life still dwelt in her," Imrahil gently corrected. "But speak not of it. My sons have taken care of lodging for your men and their horses. However, I invite you to stay beneath my roof for tonight."

Éomer hesitatingly said, "I am not sure…I do not mind sleeping in the stable hayloft."

"Sleep in the stable?!" Imrahil exclaimed. "As long as I have the power, I cannot allow the King of Rohan sleep in a stable when I have room in my house."

"Then I must accept," Éomer answered with a smile.

The two reached Imrahil's Minas Tirith home. It was a large building built of silvery grey stone. A small iron gate led up a paved path on the green lawn. Flowers, not yet in bloom, grew from the colorful window boxes. It was a wondrous sight after the carnage on the battlefield and the depression in the Houses of Healing. They entered through a dark blue door and into a large room with an alcove on the right that contained a dining table with chairs. Further down the spacious hall awaited what seemed to be a parlor of some sort. An aromatic scent wafted through the house.

"I know this is not quite the way you would arrange a house," explained Imrahil after noting Éomer's curious glances. "My wife arranged the place according to functional efficiency. Our private armory is this way."

He led Éomer through to a side room close to the door where they found Erchirion and Amrothos cleaning their armor. They immediately left their gear to help Imrahil and Éomer remove their armor.

"Elphir is finishing up the lodging arrangements," said Erchirion after greeting his father and newfound friend.

Imrahil nodded approvingly and asked, "And what is your sister up to?"

"Finishing up supper or airing out the guestroom," answered Amrothos. "She would not let me in the kitchen, so I hope she is making something edible."

Imrahil laughed and remarked, "After living in the Houses of Healing for four years, I am sure she can distinguish edible plants from nonedible."

Amrothos mumbled, "But it depends on what it tastes like."

Éomer unbuckled his greaves and sighed, "It must have been great fun to grow up in a large family."

"As long as it is not too large," laughed Erchirion. "I hear that six and more children can be quite a burden. Don't bother cleaning your gear now, we can do it after supper." A merry bell tinkled. "And that must be the dinner bell!"

The four men trooped into the kitchen. A large crock of a beef stew with a loaf of bread sat on a table set for four. However, no woman was to found in the spotless kitchen. Instead, a note rested on Imrahil's bowl.

Imrahil read aloud, " _I have already eaten my portion to make sure the food was edible. As I am quite weary, I hope you do not mind eating without me. The best guestroom is aired and ready for his lordship._ "

"That's Lothíriel for you," remarked Erchirion. "Always keeping to herself."

"That is only what you know," interrupted Amrothos. "You have not kept up with her for the last ten years."

"She has been gone for five," Erchirion retorted.

Imrahil interposed, "Boys! Is there a reason for the two of you to argue and prevent us from eating a meal free of strife?"

Éomer smiled inwardly. Siblings. He had argued with Éowyn a few times for ridiculous reasons. He ladled some of the stew into his bowl and tasted it. He remarked, "Where did your sister learn to cook? I did not think a lady of her rank would learn the art of cookery."

"Mother," said Erchirion and Amrothos at once.

Imrahil chuckled and said, "My wife is strange to Gondorian standards. She believes that a lady should be capable of running a house as well as 'decorating' it. For her, running a house means being at least acquainted with every arena in housekeeping."

"Acquainted as in being able to do it," expostulated Erchirion.

The conversation gradually turned to an animated discussion of individual education experiences. Elphir's entrance interrupted the discussion only for a short moment. Eventually, they finished the meal, cleaned up, and retired to their own beds.

* * *

After retiring to bed, Lothíriel slept fitfully for a few hours. She suddenly awoke after a vivid dream of vultures screaming over the bodies of her family. She wiped the perspiration from her brow. For a few minutes, she lay there, staring into the dark and thinking about the last twenty four hours. She never expected _actually_ meet Éomer because all previous encounters were not exactly _real_. Seeing him in the Houses of Healing scattered her organized thoughts and feelings about him.

"No use lying here," she said to herself, "when my mind very much awake."

She rose and wrapped her robe around her. With her room being the remodeled attic, the steps leading to and from her bedroom door creaked terribly. She tiptoed past her brothers and father's room. The last challenge would be the hallway through the guest quarters. After passing Éomer's room with a beating heart, she made her way to the kitchen. After a soothing cup of tea, Lothíriel went into the armory. She found her father and Éomer's armor sitting on the table, waiting to be cleaned. With an amused smile, she set to work.

Just before dawn, Lothíriel finished cleaning the armor and returned to the kitchen to start breakfast. She stirred the smoldering embers into action and added a log. There were no eggs to be found, so she set a pot of water to boil for oatmeal. Just as the oatmeal was finished cooking, Lothíriel heard her brothers stirring rather loudly. When she quickly set the table, she rang the meal bell.

As the men yawned their way down the stairs, Lothíriel slipped into the large pantry and opened a secret door that led to the linen closet on the second floor. Only a few servants and the women of the house knew of the door.

As she closed the door, Lothíriel heard her brothers asking, "Where did that girl go to now?" With a smile, she whispered in response, "Back to bed because she has been up half the night."


	10. Chapter 10

Lothíriel soon heard of the plan of the Captains of the West. When Erchirion broke the news to her, she remained in a thoughtful silence and only mentioned that they better come back in one piece.

Two days after her father and brothers departed, Lothíriel arrived at the Houses of Healing only to find out that the Lady Éowyn, the woman of Rohan, had been assigned to her care as long as Lady Éowyn needed her. She was pleased. Lothíriel heard Éowyn was somewhere in her mid-twenties. That meant that the age difference might allow a friendship.

When she entered, Lady Éowyn asked, "Do you have any clothing for me to wear? I am tired of spending the day in a nightgown."

"You seem about my height and build," Lothíriel responded, "so if you wait a few moments, I shall bring you some."

As she exited the Houses of Healing, one of the other female healers hissed, "What are you thinking, Lothíriel? The lady is supposed to remain in bed for another seven days."

"That may be so, but I would soon weary of spending my days in a nightdress," Lothíriel answered.

She soon returned with a clean gown. After Éowyn dressed, Lothíriel tended to Éowyn's broken arm and placed it in a sling. With a word of thanks, Éowyn departed to find the Warden.

The days passed. Éowyn moved to a room that faced the east. Lothíriel noted Faramir's walks with Éowyn as they both healed in body. Whether they realized it, she suspected they healed each other's spirits. Faramir seemed to be much less…burdened. Or at least, the burdens did not affect him too much. And Éowyn. Well, she appeared less…stony and forlorn when with Faramir. Yes, she could see both Éowyn and Faramir sharing life together.

How great the city's rejoicing when news of the war's ending arrived on the wings of a great eagle a week after the Captains of the West set forth. Lothíriel found herself back in the Citadel, helping Faramir plan the coronation of the king. She also aided him in organizing the cleaning up the first circle. She left the ceremony to Faramir while she dealt with the smaller details of the celebration following the ceremony. At the same time, she welcomed citizens as they quickly drifted back to Minas Tirith.

A few days later while visiting the Houses of Healing, Éowyn stopped Lothíriel. She said simply, "You must be Faramir's cousin. As you are the only relative of his present, I wish you to be the first to hear. Faramir has brought me the greatest joy and a new appreciation for life, which we shall share together."

Lothíriel smiled radiantly while saying, "My congratulations, Lady Éowyn! Faramir hardly speaks of his…personal life, and I am glad to hear the news from you."

"Thank you," laughed Éowyn. "I hope we shall become closer than friends."

Very quickly, the two women became like sisters. They often spoke of the different customs and lifestyles between Gondor and Rohan. They also exchanged childhood experiences. However, Lothíriel never revealed her encounter with Calacondo and resulting meetings. It just was not yet time for those stories to be revealed.

Spring quickly settled in Gondor. That meant the palace underwent a thorough cleaning. The gardens also wanted a good deal attention. Lothíriel directed the gardens' restoration, often helping pulling weeds or planting new flowers. After spending one morning with the gardeners, she returned to the palace to check the progress. Eventually, her duties were concluded. The housekeeper practically kicked her out of the palace when her tour was finished. She paced to the house, intending to change into something clean before visiting some of her widow-friends. As she climbed up to her room, the voices of a protesting child and a gentle restraining response met her ear. She also heard the quiet movements of another person. Entering her parents' room, Lothíriel found her mother unpacking her trunk.

"Mother," she cried, "when did you arrive?"

"This morning, dear child," her mother laughed. "My, you have grown in height, and hopefully in spirit." She examined her daughter's joyful face. "Is there something troubling you? You have a sort of haunted look in your eye. Have been sleeping well?"

Lothíriel responded. "My sleeping habits have been healthy. I just have so much more time to consider the past. Especially of certain occurrences."

Her mother said encouragingly, "What occurrences, daughter?"

"Remember my dream-like happenstances with Éomer of Rohan?" Her mother nodded. "Well, he is now the King of Rohan because his uncle, Théoden, perished in the Battle of Pelennor Fields."

Her mother said softly, "And this information you know because you have seen him."

"What should I do? He knows that Lothíriel exists, but he does not know that the same Lothíriel is the girl he met years ago."

"Here then is my advice: Do not be afraid of him finding out the truth. It may be for the best that he figures out the connections."

Lothíriel shrugged. An irrational fear most likely caused her to shy away from meeting Elmer in person. But then, there might be a legitimate reason.

The days drew closer to King Aragorn's coronation. The council insisted Lothíriel's mother take over the duties of preparing for so momentous an event. Lothíriel humbly complied and quickly found activities to fill up her time. Whenever she was not visiting some old widow, Lothíriel was seen galloping through the fields of Pelennor, now green with seedlings and young grass shoots. Sometimes, she rode to Osgiliath to oversee shipments of goods to be sent. Now and then, she spent the day with harpers from Dol Amroth since she desired to refresh her harp skills after years of nonpractice. Although she was officially nothing more than the daughter of Prince Imrahil, she found work in participating in the lives of the people.

* * *

Four nights after the victory of the West found Éomer sitting in his tent, distractedly polishing his sword for the hundredth time. He mused over the past few months. So much has occurred. He never dreamed that his uncle could be healed, yet he was. He never expected to become King of Rohan, and here he was, just that. At times, he wished fate did not turn out the way it did, but there was not much he could do to change it.

"A messenger brought you a letter," said Eothain, interrupting Éomer's thoughts. "By the way, you might want to put up your sword before you wear the metal out."

Éomer seized the missive and read through her sister's words. After finishing it, he sighed morosely.

"Is everything alright?" Eothain queried carefully.

Éomer answered, "She is healing very well in spirit, all thanks to the Steward of the City. However, she begs leave to remain in Minas Tirith instead of coming here."

Eothain nodded and seated himself beside his friend and king. "Is there anything else?"

"Hmmm, most of this letter is general enough for other ears. Yes, she noted she and the daughter of Imrahil are now good friends. Other than that, not much else I will share with you."

Eothain shrugged and said lightly, "Well, I best be off to checking the horses. Maybe you ought to spend the evening with the jovial sons of Imrahil or anybody, for that matter. Might be harmful if you sat here, brooding."

Éomer chuckled and chose to brood. Memories of the past filtered into his thoughts. Gradually, that girl he met years ago became the primary focus of his mind. Théodred called her a dream. Sometimes, he thought so as well. On their last encounter, she disappeared with his handkerchief. If she was not real, he would have found it in the hay where she sat. For that reason, he hoped the girl existed because she alone piqued his notice. He was now certain that she was of noble Gondorian birth. Her manner and speech was akin to Prince Imrahil and other lords.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And that's the tenth chapter! What do you think of the story so far? Please don't be shy about reviewing. Any constructive criticism and encouragement is very welcome! I must confess, the chapters about the war could have been better written. As for this chapter, it feels rushed, but I honestly have no clue as to how to slow down. If you have some pointers about that, do let me know.


	11. Chapter 11

_(Quick Author's Note: Begins directly after Aragorn's coronation as King of Gondor and Arnor.)_

The newly crowned King of Gondor led the procession through the barricades, which took the place of Minas Tirith's gates, and up into the city. Éomer and his sister rode behind Aragorn. The people followed behind, cheering and making merry music.

As they rode up through the many circles of Minas Tirith, Éowyn remarked in their own language, "Are you looking forward to tonight's celebrations?"

"I suppose so," he responded. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I am not sure of you are aware that there will be many unmarried ladies," she said with a hint of gaiety. "Ladies who would jump at the chance of marrying someone of high rank."

"I shall tell them that I am already attached."

Éowyn gasped. She leaned towards him and whispered, "You have not done anything scandalous, have you?"

"No, dear sister, nothing like that," chuckled Éomer. "My affections are attached."

"To whom?"

"To a lady whose name I do not know."

"Maybe you shall meet her at the ball."

"Maybe," agreed Éomer.

They arrived in the sixth circle. After dismounting and giving their horses to the grooms, the king and his invited guests proceeded into the Citadel. As for the rest of the people, they remained in the lower circles to prepare for their own festivities that night. A servant approached to lead Éomer and Éowyn to their rooms.

When Éomer entered his room, he quickly noted the luxurious furniture pieces to the simple décor of the room. One thing that characterized the room was the dark Cherrywood of all the furniture. The large canopied bed, stocked desk, and cushioned chairs were all intricately carved in a feminine pattern. Whoever decorated his room carefully brought out the masculine colors in a room that would otherwise be quite fit for a female. A thick bearskin lay before the fireplace. Dark red drapes hung in the place of lacey curtains at the windows. To keep the room from feeling like a cave, a colorful tapestry hung over the carved mantel. Further exploration revealed a clean change of clothes lying on the bed, several books in different languages on the bookshelf, and a plain washbasin and pitcher hidden in a corner.

After washing his face, Éomer exited the room, finding his sister waiting out in the hall. Together they set off with their guide. After lunch, Éowyn returned to her room to rest before preparing for the coronation ball. Éomer, however, walked to the stables to pay Firefoot a long visit. Several Gondorian nobles gaped as they witness the King of Rohan returning with his saddlebags over his shoulder, eliciting many chuckles from said king.

As soon as he returned, Éowyn insisted he take a bath. To this, he submitted with little complaint. He probably needed one anyways. After dressing, he thought himself ready when he presented himself to Éowyn for inspection.

"Boots could be polished, tunic is fine," she appraised, "but your hairdo is not acceptable."

"What are you talking about?" Éomer argued. "Of all things, why my hair? There is nothing wrong with it."

"Sit down," she ordered firmly, pointing to a straight-back chair.

Éomer reluctantly complied, grumbling, "I know elves braid their hair, but it is twice as long as mine. Besides, I only braid it when going to war."

"You forget that throughout all times," corrected Éowyn, "you braided your hair most of the time. There is nothing wrong with that, is there?" She plaited a small section of his hair until there was neat braid above his right ear.

"Well, no, but we are not in Rohan."

"What does that have to do with anything? You are Rohan's king, and should act and dress accordingly. Gondor may disapprove now, but they may embrace it later."

"As long as these ladies of Gondor you speak of do not pounce on me," Éomer said wryly.

* * *

After watching the coronation from the top of the walls, Lothíriel hurried back to the house before anyone, the King of Rohan in particular, noticed her. When her family returned to freshen up before luncheon with the new king, she made herself scarce before anyone could persuade her to attend. They returned in high spirits, but she did not mind.

Lothíriel's mother and sister-in-law elected to take a nap before the final preparations for that night. Instead of worrying about what she was going to wear, Lothíriel played with Alphros for a few hours in the garden behind the house. Eventually, it became quite apparent that Alphros also needed a nap. After submitting him to his mother, she made her way up to her room.

On the way, her mother called, "Dear, are you getting ready?"

"I am just about to, Mother," she answered.

She pulled out a light blue dress from her closet. It was not the standard Gondorian fashion, which consisted of earthy colors and materials. Her dress was much more airy in both color and material. After dressing, she allowed her mother to style her hair.

"I daresay the court ladies will soon be inspired by your style," her mother said.

Elphir's wife, who entered for a word of maternal advice, said hesitatingly, "But they may also be negative about it."

"Whatever they say," said Lothíriel blithely, "I shall not know or care."

As soon as her mother concluded, she breezed down the stairs. Her brothers and father only commented, "That color becomes you," before returning to their original topic of politics. Desiring to make you of her time before it was time for the ball, she seated herself at her harp.

A small commotion in the entry room aroused her attention. She entered to hear Elphir speaking earnestly with his mother, father, and wife.

"Is there something amiss?" she questioned.

Elphir answered, "Alphros' nurse has not yet arrived. We gave her leave to spend the day with her family as long as she came here this evening to watch him while we were gone."

"I can wait with Alphros until she arrives," Lothíriel offered.

Her mother interposed, "But dear, you shall most likely miss the dinner and, I daresay, some of the dancing."

"No matter," she said brightly. "The larder is full, and Alphros and I shall make the best of what we have. I am sure there is nothing of great importance that I will miss."

Elphir's wife reluctantly assented and eventually it was all settled. After the Prince of Dol Amroth, his wife, and sons departed, Lothíriel donned on a large apron to heat leftovers from the previous night. When Alphros cried, she hurried upstairs. After both of them had eaten their fill, Alphros helped Lothíriel with the few dishes.

An hour after the sun set, a rapid series of knocks sounded on the door.

Lothíriel opened the door to find a pale maid, who hastily apologized, "I beg your pardon, my lady, for my tardiness."

"Pardon is granted, but come, Alphros will be happy to see you," Lothíriel responded gently. When the maid stepped inside, she continued, "I fed Alphros already, and all he wants is a play companion and someone to watch him while he sleeps." She removed her apron and departed from the house before the girl could utter another word of apology.

 **Author's Note:** Unfortunately, I could not get my original files off my broken computer. After retyping whatever I remember from the originals and adding some things, I think everything turned out okay.

Here's that timeline with new entries in italics.

2999 – Birth

3009 – Witnesses the Horses of the Sea for the first time, meets the Little White Horse, and is introduced to the magical sanctuary.

3010 – Meets Éomer for the first time.

3011 – Second encounter with Éomer.

3015 – Third encounter with Éomer. Becomes an apprentice in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.

3017 – (April) Lothíriel concludes her training as a healer and becomes Denethor's "assistant."

3018 – (July) Boromir leaves for Imladris.

3019 – (Early January) the beginning of the evacuation of the civilians in Minas Tirith.

(Mid-February) Imrahil and his sons arrive in Minas Tirith with a host from Dol Amroth.

(February 29) Boromir is killed.

(March 8) Denethor receives the hereditary horn, now cleft in two.

(March 9) Mithrandir and Pippin arrive in Minas Tirith. Lothíriel encounters the Little White Horse/Calacondo.

(March 10) Faramir arrives under perilous circumstances. A thick shadow from the East prevents the light of the sun to shine over Minas Tirith, and it spreads westward.

(March 11) Faramir departs with some men of Gondor.

(March 12) Osgiliath and Cair Andros has fallen.

(March 13) Midmorning, Mithrandir comes, bringing the wounded. Evening, the walls of Pelennor, which are also known as the Rammas, falls. Twilight, a sortie, comprised of Dol Amroth and Mithrandir, departs from Minas Tirith to rescue the remaining of Faramir and his men. They bring back a wounded Faramir.

(March 14) The siege of Minas Tirith. The Pelennor Fields are destroyed. "Bombs" and "grenades" are fired within the first circle along with the heads of all men of Gondor who have perished.

 _(March 15) Denethor burns himself. Faramir is rescued and sent to the Houses of Healing. The gates of Minas Tirith are destroyed and it seems that the Witchking has won the battle. Rohan arrives at the crack of dawn. Battle of Pelennor Fields commences. Théoden is killed. Éowyn and Merry are wounded when defeating the Witchking. After the battle, Aragorn enters the city and heals Faramir, Éowyn, and Merry._

 _(March 16) The Last Debate among the Lords of the West._

 _(March 18) The Host of the West sets off to challenge the Dark Lord._

 _(March 20) Éowyn meets Faramir in the Houses of Healing._

 _(March 25) The Dark Lord is defeated._

 _(Early-mid May) The coronation of Aragorn as King of Gondor and Arnor._


	12. Chapter 12

Éomer managed to evade several of the waspish Gondorian butterflies. To a few, he had to bow and excuse himself as politely as possible. Seeking solace from the constant threat of being smothered by the ladies, he escaped to the gardens. He wandered onto a terrace and suddenly halted. There stood the lady whom he was more than fond of.

She stood on a veranda with her back towards him, gazing over the lighted city. The moonlight surrounded her, accenting the ethereal blue of her dress. It almost seemed that she was a star from the dark skies. A waterfall of silky black hair tumbled down her back. Éomer's hope that this lady truly existed began to disintegrate, for she appeared to be far more a dream than a reality.

Before he could speak, the Eothain's voice sounded. With an irritated sigh, Éomer turned away. He met his friend in a nearby corridor. After a few moments, he managed to send him off to entertain a lady insisting to meet the "dashing King of Rohan."

When he returned to the veranda, his heart seemed to droop a little. Just as he expected, the lady he so long admired disappeared. A soft patter of footsteps drew his attention. Wondering what it could be, he rounded the corner to spot a flash of bright blue vanishing round the next corner. Daring to hope, he hurriedly followed that bit of color.

* * *

Lothíriel detected heavy footfalls following her. Fortunately for her, she knew the palace much better than Éomer, so it did not take long to lose him. She paused in a flower filled garden to catch her breath. When her fears quieted, her mind began scolding her. _You faced the Battle of Pelennor Fields, but you cannot even face the King of Rohan! Besides, it is very discourteous to avoid someone._ Suddenly, she laughed. How foolish all her fears seemed. She resolved that it would be best to let him find her as her mother advised. However, that did not mean she had to give him her name.

* * *

Laughter rippled through the still night. It was sweet and musical to the ear. Éomer's heart leapt at the sound. Perhaps the lady was giving him a chance to find her before she disappeared, maybe for forever. A song with words flowing like a gentle river and a tune as bright as spring filled the air. He followed his musical guide until he arrived in small garden that was more like a courtyard. There, his lady sat in the middle, weaving many flowers together. He stood in the shadows, afraid that his presence might frighten her away.

She stopped singing and said, "I know you are there, Éomer of Rohan."

"How do you know my name?" He queried, still not venturing to step into the pale moonlight.

"Ten years ago, no, nine years ago," she said, "you told me."

"If you can keep record of time," Éomer wondered, "does that mean you are real?"

She smiled mysteriously and answered, "Or I am a fantasy that seems to age as you grow older."

"Long ago, you were more…human in nature, but now you act as if you come from another world."

"Maybe I have."

"But then if you did, how is that you said you were being sent away from your home to finish your education. You still have my handkerchief, I believe."

"Then tell me: am I a real person like yourself or am I a passing dream?"

Éomer met her unflinching gaze. She revealed little in her eyes. Finally, he said, "You are truly exist as anything but a fantasy. However, I suppose that you may be a faerie, for once you said that you were not elvish. If you were human, you would not seem as illusory as sometimes I think you are."

She remarked, "I have not heard of 'faerie' before."

"Then you must be human," he breathed softly.

"Human with a trace of elvish descent," she corrected, rising to her feet and sending any blossoms in her lap tumbling to the ground. "You were not meant to stay in the shadows, Éomer of Rohan. Please, come into the light."

Éomer obeyed her request. As he approached her, she held out a circlet of fragrant blossoms. He accepted it, stepped closer, and said with a smile, "I think you would look better in a crown of flowers than I would." She stood still while he crowned her.

He said softly, "I should like to call you by your rightful name, but I do not know it. What is it?"

"You have crowned me with flowers, and that is what my name is," she answered with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Flower-crowned lady?" he asked, puzzled by her response.

She nodded, "Well, close to that. I daresay that you shall soon be missed by a good many of people."  
Understanding her implied, "You should go back, now," Éomer said, "I will only return if you accompany me."

"I will accompany you to the place where you spotted me this night, but no further."

No other words could persuade her to go any further. Instead, she moved away in the direction of the great hall, leaving him to hurry after her. When she reached the veranda where he first saw her that night, she hurried away like a star shooting across the night sky.

* * *

With her heart beating wildly, Lothíriel entered her house through the back door. She climbed up to her room softly. After changing into her nightgown, she seated herself to contemplate the last hour, hoping that would calm her frantic heart.

 _Was I too bold? Should I have given him the full truth of my identity? Will he understand that what I told him about my name is actually the meaning of it? Will he try to search me out again?_ She hardly dared to hope that he would comprehend and seek her out. She blushed to just even think about anything preliminary to a courtship. Then a thought struck her that brought a joy to her heart. If he loved her, then he would stop at nothing to seek her out.

In all her life, she never experienced the romantic type of love. It was an entirely new concept, for there was never room for it in her past life. Also, she led a protected life away from all the suitors whom her father and brothers have to deal with. Whatever it was, her feelings regarding Éomer wavered between a strange passion and a slight terror for the mused, _Have I…do I love the King of Rohan? Does he love me? What is love?_

 **Author's Note:** Now I realize what this whole story has been building up to: the moment Éomer and Lothíriel physically meet and associating events that arise from it. Unfortunately, I did not know that when writing the previous chapters. Oh well, I will fix that another time. Anyways, don't forget to drop me a review, especially if you have suggestions for improving this chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

Over the following days, Éomer merely caught glimpses of his flower-crowned lady. He pondered over what her real name was. It was highly likely she gave him the definition of her name, but that was not much to begin with. The Gondorians seemed rather fond of their elvish roots, so it was very possible that the lady's name was elvish. He could most certainly read Westron, but the elvish language was beyond his comprehension. Maybe there is a book about names in Westron in the library.

The day before he was to leave for home, Éomer finally had a free moment for himself. With the help of a servant, he found the library. The ceiling was nearly as high as that of Meduseld's. Several vast windows lined the southern wall. The north and west walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There were also many other rows of bookshelves, filled with colorful covers. Close to the door was a large fireplace, empty of warmth, with a large couch of leather and matching loungers in front. The cold hearth was covered with a fleecy rug for those who read books on the floor. In one corner, a small table with two chairs stood for those who liked to discuss books. A spiral staircase in another corner led towards what he guessed to be another room of books. Éomer then noticed a little man sitting by a window with a large book on the table in front of him.

"Pardon me for interrupting, but I am looking for a book," Éomer said after standing in front of the man's desk for a few minutes.  
"You interrupt nothing," he said warmly, "for there is nothing I am doing right now. I am the bookkeeper here. Now what kind of book do you want?"

"An elvish dictionary or book of elvish names in Westron," Éomer said politely.

The little man thumbed through several pages before stopping. Scanning the massive page before him, the bookkeeper said, "Row 3, shelf 10." Looking up to see Éomer's uncomprehending eyes, he mumbled gruffly, "Follow me."

Éomer followed the man until they came to one of the many bookshelves. The librarian pulled out a book, commanding, "Make sure you return it in its proper place, or leave it on my desk."

Éomer nodded his thanks and scanned the book for the right area of the first word. It was a dictionary, which probably would have been more useful than a name book. He searched for the word _flower._ As soon as he found the translation, he immediately returned the book in its place. He did not need it anymore, for the realization struck him. His mystery girl was none other than the daughter of Prince Imrahil! He heard much of her, but he never dreamed that it would be her. As he left, he wondered, " _Then what magic caused us to meet?"_

He did not have time or the chance to seek Lothíriel out. He also did not dare write her a note lest it should cause her some trouble. At least he intended to return as soon as he could to bring his uncle to his final resting place.

The next two months, Éomer spent much of his time traveling throughout Rohan, assessing the damage and beginning the recovery process. The area around Helm's Deep was barely fertile, but enough vegetation grew for animals with hardy stomachs. The farmlands lay in the east, and they were largely unharmed by the orcs. Saruman's minions damaged much of the grazing lands, which lay in the west. The horses and men slain in battle were an even greater loss. At least five thousand horses and horsemen were killed in battle, and that number was half of Rohan's strength in arms.

Eventually, Éomer set Rohan on a plan for recovery. By late July, everything was prepared for King Théoden's return. Éomer set off to Gondor with the finest riders of Rohan. After a week and a half of riding, they arrived in Minas Tirith. To his surprise, he found many elves lingering in the city.

Aragorn introduced him to his elven wife. She was tall and fair with eyes of wisdom. She reminded Éomer of a more serious version of Lady Lothíriel. That night, he also met the Lady Galadriel. Soon after, he sought out Gimli to settle an old score.

Éomer thought bringing Théoden home would be a simple matter. During a meeting the following day, the high elves elected to accompany him to Rohan before each continued to their respective realms. Éomer turned a shade paler. He and his sister were not quite expecting such a high…honor. As soon as the meeting was over, he immediately wrote to Éowyn because she would have berate him if he brought unexpected guests to Edoras.

The next day, Éomer spotted Lothíriel heading towards the library. He followed her. When he entered the library, it was largely the same, except the bookkeeper must have been taking a midday break. Éomer found Lothíriel standing on a ladder with wheels attached to a rail on the top and bottom. She climbed down and leaned against the bookshelf, flipping through the pages.

"Greetings, Lady Lothíriel," he said after realizing she probably would not notice him if he remained silent. "What book is that?"

Looking up, she gasped and almost dropped her book. Her face turned slightly pink, which Éomer found rather attractive. She stammered, "An adapted history of Gondor. My nephew is learning to read, and he needs to better learn his country's history."

"Do you enjoy books?" He questioned, trying to help the lady regain control of her nerves.

She answered, "Yes. They are dear friends who say nothing more than what is written within them."

Having enough of trying to make small talk, Éomer went straight to the question he wished to ask. "Do you think some stroke of fate caused us to first meet all those years ago?"

She leaned against the bookshelf with a strange light in her eyes. She replied, "No, I do not. I believe it is something greater." Her voice grew softer, "Maybe, you could see and might understand." The mask of deep contemplation covered her face.

Éomer waited patiently until she questioned, "Do you know where the High East Tower is?"

"No, but I can find out."

"Morning after tomorrow, meet me there at least half an hour before dawn. I must ask to be excused now, for Alphros will wonder about his book and start a chain reaction if I stay much longer."

"Then you must go to him," said Éomer, bowing as Lothíriel curtseyed before hurrying off.

* * *

Lothíriel said not a word of her encounter with Éomer King to her family. She still did not know how she felt about him, but that did not keep her mind from wondering.

 _Perhaps he has some regard for me,_ she thought that night. _He figured out my name and sought me out. I cannot explain to him how we met, but I can show him. The questions is: will he see?_

 **Author's Note:** Sorry I have not updated in a while! My mind reached the climax for this story and began maxing out.


	14. Chapter 14

Lothíriel woke an hour before dawn. After dressing, she crept down the stairs from her attic room. The first door she encountered was the linen closet. Slipping inside, she found the hidden door and opened it. She treaded softly down the stairs into the pantry. She placed a prewritten note on the kitchen table, which merely said she was called away and would return as soon as she could. Wrapping herself in a grey cloak, she exited the house and into the chilly morning air. The sky was still quite dark, but she knew the way well enough. She entered the palace and slipped by the many guards until she reached the empty hallway that led to the tower.

When she arrived, Éomer awaited her. He held a lantern in his hand. He whispered, "The door is locked."

"No matter," said she, "I have the key." She pulled out the key from a convenient pocket in her dress and unlocked the door.

"What is it that you wish to show me?" questioned Éomer as they made their way up the stairs.

"When the sun rises, what do you see?" she asked in return.

He thought a moment before answering, "A light in the distant east, spreading warmth, and a new day like a bird spreading its wings."

Lothíriel smiled and said, "In the mornings, a different picture unfolds, for me at least. When the sky begins to shed its starry cloak, the ocean churns uneasily. Then at the break of dawn, countless white horses rear from the waves and spring forth to bring the light of day to all the land. That is what I hope you see this morning."

Éomer smiled to himself, for he found this girl to be rather strange in speech and mind. They reached a door at the end of the stairs. Lothíriel opened it and entered a circular room. Éomer extinguished the light in his lamp and set it on the floor. She quickly located a ladder and set it against the wall. Climbing up, she revealed at trap door in the ceiling and soon disappeared. Éomer followed her onto a narrow balcony that encircled spiral roof of the tower.

"The sun shall rise in a few moments," Lothíriel remarked after carefully analyzing the light in the sky.

Soon, the sun peeked over the horizon. As Éomer watched the light quickly spread over the land, he fancied white horses galloping. He blinked, thinking his mind was playing a trick, but the horses remained, joyfully scampering into the west. One of the horses shone brighter than the rest. A star shone from the horse's forehead

Lothíriel gripped his arm. He wordlessly wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. Éomer glanced into her face. A beautiful light danced in her eyes, and her face practically shone. She pulled away and climbed down the ladder. As he followed, he heard her laugh and clap with joy.

When he reached the bottom, he immediately saw the reason for her joy. The wooden floor turned into a grassy carpet. Engraved in the walls were many beautiful carvings. Vines blooming with white and blue flowers took the place of the ceiling with sunlight filtering through the green leaves. In the center stood a magnificent marble stature of a rearing stallion with a horn as frozen waves crashed against the rock the horse stood in.

The stone horse suddenly transformed into a living one. He stepped regally down from his puzzle and nuzzled Lothíriel affectionately. When he turned his head to greet Éomer, Éomer recognized the horse he glimpsed during the sunrise.

"This is Calacondo," Lothíriel said. "He is the one who brought us together."

Remembering his manners, Éomer bowed and said, "I am most honored."

Calacondo approached Éomer until he stood before the rather speechless human. He touched Éomer with his horn, showing him many things from the past and future.

Suddenly, Éomer found himself in a barren room with Lothíriel. A weak light shone through the window.

Éomer stammered, "What happened?"

Lothíriel smiled, "You witnessed the heralds of the light, and Calacondo, Prince of the Heralds of Light, revealed himself to you. He told you something, too, did he not?"

"Yes, he showed me many strange events," Éomer murmured, still in a daze from his encounter with the horned horse.

Lothíriel quietly took his hand and the lamp and led Éomer down the stairs. They exited the tower without a word.

Pausing, Lothíriel remarked, "I must leave you here before anyone sees us. Your room is down that hall." She gestured towards the direction of his room.

Éomer shook himself out of his trance. He bowed and said, "Thank you, Lady Lothíriel, for showing me the truth. I never would have believed if you had not."

She smiled and replied, "You best take your lamp back." She held it out to him.

He accepted it and took hold of her hand, murmuring, "One day." He broke off his sentence and let go of her hand. Without another word, he hurried down the hall to his room.

As she walked to her home, Lothíriel wondered what Éomer's parting words meant. He left no hint to what he meant, which left an infinite number of possible answers. Perhaps he would explain himself before he left for Rohan.

For the rest of the day, Éomer purposely avoided meeting with Aragorn and his elven relatives. The last thing he needed was an elf seeing his thoughts. For most of the day, he recalled the morning's magical events. He was almost sure that it was not a dream. Lothíriel believed it to be a reality, not a fantasy.

The next day, Éomer purposely rose before the dawn to watch the sunrise. The white horses of light only reaffirmed the events from the morning before. After breakfast, he did not have a chance to speak with Lothíriel. However, that evening would be a small gathering with the King and Queen of Gondor, his closet counselors, and the elves. That would allow him to _officially_ meet Lady Lothíriel, making future encounters less scandalous.

After supper, Erchirion pulled Éomer aside and remarked bluntly, "Father is fond of you."

"I beg your pardon?" Éomer answered, not understanding Erchirion.

He replied, "We are distant kin through your grandmother. For your age, you are also an experienced warrior, for you received nary a scratch during the Battle of Pelennor Field. My father feels a bond through blood and experience between our family and you."

"May I ask why you tell me this?"

"Because we shall become more than distant kin and brothers-in-arms," he answered cryptically before departing to keep his younger brother from accidently starting trouble.

Prince Imrahil soon beckoned to him. He asked, "How are you faring? I have not been able to speak with you in depth."

"All is well, friend," rejoined Éomer. "Rohan shall recover well if all my calculations are correct. As for myself, I am still learning my role though I am reconciled to my new status."

Imrahil remarked thoughtfully, "Your task is difficult to bear alone, but I can offer a way to make it lighter. My sons are well trained for roles of political authority. If you wish it, I am fairly certain they would not mind imparting some of what they learned. I would do it myself, but learning to be a political leader is difficult. I am afraid it takes more time than I can give you."

"You have already helped me by supporting me during darker days," Éomer said.

"Lothíriel," Imrahil called upon seeing his daughter approach. "I wish you to meet a dear friend of mine."

Lothíriel obeyed her father. Her eyes showed no flicker of previously meeting the King of Rohan, but her smile and a slight blush hinted at previous encounters. Not noticing his daughter's reactions, Imrahil introduced his daughter to Éomer.

"Your sister and I became acquainted while she resided in the Houses in Healing," she remarked. "May I enquire after her wellbeing?"

"She was quite hale and hearty when I left her," Éomer said. "She is preparing for the funeral and a hand-fasting. With the elves and the King and Queen of Gondor accompanying the procession, she is especially occupied."

Imrahil excused himself to attend to his wife. Once he was out of earshot, Éomer said, "This morning, I watched the sunrise. It was not quite as beautiful as the previous morning, but it was still quite stirring. Also I wish to ask your pardon for my abrupt departure yesterday."

"Then you do not think me a deluded person?" Lothíriel half-questioned. She added, "You did leave me mystified, but I have perplexed you for many years."

Éomer shook his head. He added in a low voice, "I should like to speak more deeply about the topic, but not here. Perhaps I can meet you in the library tomorrow afternoon?"

Lothíriel nodded and whispered, "The archives are below the library. It is even quieter there." She curtsied and excused herself.


	15. AN

Yes, it's me again. I know it's been months since the last post, so please let me explain myself. I had summer camp, then school started. And yeah, my life got pretty full. SI really wish I had a real chapter to publish, but the writer's block is unusually severe. I don't want to give you a crumby chapter because you deserve better than that.

So, here's what I am going to do. I shall leave the story as is until I get inspiration for the end and edit previous chapters as needed. BUT, I do request a little favor from you readers.

1\. LEAVE A REVIEW OR MESSAGE ME WITH AN IDEA OF HOW YOU WOULD LIKE THE STORY TO END. (In other words...What would you like to see happen to these two characters before the end? Or how would you finish this story?)

2\. OR you can write a rough outline, draft, compiled list of ideas, and send it to me to feed my imagination.

If you do the FIRST, I will give you honorable mention. And if you do the second, I will give special credit and thanks.

 **Current Special Credits for.**..

~MeeCee. Thank you for reminding me to not rush through the plot and savor each moment. Also, thank you for helping me work out plot issues in the beginning of the story.

~snuglebunny719. Thank you for inspiring me to critique the story as a reader would – that is, looking for depth in plot and character. Also, many thanks for reminding me that some scenes just work better if fleshed out.

 **Honorable Mentions**...

~coecoe11

~Guest

~A

~PegasusWingsVW

~RubberKidney

Thank you all for reviewing and leaving me something to brighten my day and imagination.

Also, thank you to all who have favorite and followed this story. _Oh, and BTW, check my bio for news regarding any of my stories!_


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